


Canis Root Tea

by Chirp_Writes



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/F, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oral Sex, Slow-ish burn, Teldryn 'Sassmaster' Sero, dragonborn - the ultimate wingman, i mean they are both elves so no one is under a hundred, local old man tries to cost-benefit analysis a crush away, some possibly incorrect Neloth backlore, this elf is lonely give him some pals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-11-16 16:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chirp_Writes/pseuds/Chirp_Writes
Summary: Teldryn wants that Telvanni booty. Neloth needs a bit of convincing about it. Mir just wants the two to get on with it, so she can save the goddamn world in peace.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a good thing they already cleared the ash spawn nest from under the Telvani towers the other week, otherwise the two would already have been ambushed by those, fully and deeply engaged in quarrelling, leaving from just another visit to Master Neloth. Suddenly, the smaller of the chitin clad figures, the woman, throws her knapsack down into the sand, dives in, all while cursing like a Windhelm sailor. The taller one takes two cautionary steps back, but does not get far enough by the time the woman emerges with a thick book in her hands.

„Why!” leather bound wood goes “twack” on chitin „Do!” a startled yelp, as the spine of the book gets introduced, Mir, the woman, getting the hang of book-wielding way too fast in Teldryn’s opinion „You!” a set of pages falls out of the weaponized book „Have! To! Be!” each word is stressed with a hit „Such!”

„Stop it!” that is the Dunmer yelling back at the smaller woman 

„A bitch!” the abused book ends up thrown against the spellsword’s head, then flops down into the ash, lying there like some dead, mutilated bird.

„Did you just beat me up with The Lusty Argonian Maid?” Teldryn asks incredulous “The one we were supposed to deliver to a client, apparently?” he adds, after picking up and investigating the book

„You damn well deserved it, regardless of the book. And it was the nearest one. And I can fix it”

„I did not!”

„Yes, you did, by being a tremendous bitch, Teldryn!”

„Not being one is not in my contract” She cannot see his face from the chitin helmet, but can perfectly imagine those cheekily raised brows „I am free to be as much of a bitch as I want to” damn elf sounds almost proud

“Then you will soon end up being a bitch without a patron” Mir threatens, finger raised “if you cannot behave and keep playing ‘whose dick is bigger’ with Neloth!”

“Well, sera, I would love to see whose really is bigger, maybe I would stop bugging him then, but the old man has a stick up his butt, it’s really all him to blame! Cannot take a hint! By oblivion, he cannot even take a joke!”

“Teldryn, you not only challenged him to multiple duels, but told him that drinking canis root tea, I quote “helps loosen up those bothersome muscles that get in the way of enjoying certain things”, and winked at him, was that the joke he did not get? You do not tell things like that to a Telvani master wizard!”

“I could have meant shoulder muscles, all tense from crouching over those enchanting tables, he is old, after all!”

“But you did not!”

“Well, that is true, but…”

“No buts, Teldryn Sero! You being a snarky bitch, not being able to stop your sexual innuendos for two, two-” two fingers are shaken way too close in front of the glass eyepieces of his helmet as illustration “seconds almost cost me a powerful ally, and got a fucking lightning bolt to your head! He’s the only expert on Herma-Mora’s fucking weird ass tentacle books! That shrivelled up bastard reads them for fun!”

“Ughh, kinky” the Dunmer interjects again, that damn grin in his voice

“NO!” Mir pinches her nose bridge, she really, really does not want any sexy images of Neloth and tentacles in her head, neither in Teldryn’s. Takes a deep breath, reminds herself to be the adult, she might count to ten, and lets go of the argument. “Alright, new plan”

“Listening intently” Teldryn all but purrs, the cheeky fucker

“We go to Raven Rock. You fuck someone. Anyone”

“I don’t know whether you realized, but first, Raven Rock has a very, very small population, with an even smaller single, male percentage of it, and second, I do not want just any mer” Mir is pretty sure she heard a disdainful snort from under the helmet “I might be easy, but I still have standards, you know?!”

“Right, alright, my bad, then please, please, find some way, anything, not to irritate Neloth whenever we meet him, I literally couldn’t care if you jerked off five times a day, as long as you don’t do it in the middle of a battle. Anything.”

“We can’t all have a lovely spouse we can go home to anytime we want, you know” He interupts, just a bit more bitter and sarcastic than usual. Because the divines know, Teldryn is not jealous of his patron’s wealth, or connections, or even being recognized everywhere, either as the Dragonborn, or the head of something, but he gets just a teeny tiny pang of it whenever Mir visits home, and he has to hang around she and her wife, both completely lovestruck, grinning dumb at each other, talking about gross hunting stuff and other shit they bond over, and not being able to keep the noise down in the dead of the night. People need their beauty sleep, damnit. 

“I need his knowledge. Don’t fuck this up for me, will you?” the Redguard talks in the same tune as if talking to her adopted kids whenever they were being hard-headed pains in the butt, patient, low, kind, paired with intense eye contact.

Teldryn shuffles a bit, drawing squiggles in the ash with his boots, the mom-voice worked on him too well. He acts just like a scolded kid, looking away, fidgeting, got the full package

“Okay, I’ll… I’ll try, good?” It was hard to say, but he got it out. That earns him a rare smile from his patron, and - even rarer – a hug “Awww, getting soft on me, sera?” 

“Please don’t ruin this” Mir pleads, just wants the banter to stop for the fraction of a second, then she would be the happiest person on the whole island, just that long, nothing more, she knows Teldryn, after all…

He disrupts the silence with a mumble into Mir’s hood way too soon “…I can feel your boobs, ‘s weird…” 

Mir rolls her eyes, sighs. “You ruined it”

“You can always count on me, boss” That earns him a punch on the shoulder, and a grin-grimace from the redguard

“Oh by the gods, how about you shut your dumb mouth and start a campfire?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Teldryn catches The Feels, and we see some of Neloth's side

It is three weeks and two Telvanni-visits later. Technically, everything is fine. No sass, no comments, no (one-sided) flirting between the two Dunmer, Mir couldn’t be happier. Teldyrin is the perfect example of polite professionalism. To be honest, it is a tad bit scary, not even hearing the cheeky hum he does so often. So actually? It is not fine, not at all, if she thinks a little bit about it. 

“You alright?” Mir strikes up the convo as they climb through just another ash dune. She gets a non-committal hum back. “It wasn’t a courtesy question” silence, maybe some huffing, since they are reaching the peak of the dune, climbing slippery ash, softer than sand, takes a lot out of you. Teldryn has another five minutes after they reach the top, catching his breath as an excuse. 

 

Talvas is more impertinent than usual. Cannot give good skin samples. Not willing to be a subject of vivisection, not even a tiny bit. Afraid of heights. Back in Neloth’s days, an apprentice had courage, and willingness to help their master, by the divines. 

And by the gods, the questions! Being curious is beneficial, Neloth does not doubt that, but there is a limit, and Talvas certainly passed that a long, long time ago. Why doesn’t he sleep? How old is he? When is he going to finally teach this and that? What is this for? What is that for? How do you enchant a staff? A Telvanni has secrets, a Telvanni needs secrets, and a Telvanni never ever uncovers them. 

What is more, after the Dragonborn visiting with that spellsword a couple times, Talvas started picking up the cheeky attitude of that Teldryn or what’s his name, not like he can be bothered to remember it. That meant even more questions, encouraged by the bastard’s behaviour. Why did he never marry? Why does he never get out of Tel-Mithryn? What does he think of Mir’s companion? Does a wizard – a “wizard”, Talvas asked that time, did not yet dare to use Neloth’s name directly – ever keep lovers? 

The final straw, which results in Talvas being chased out of the tower by a summoned ash golem, is when the apprentice suggested that that Sero might be interested in Neloth. 

“And do not come back until you learned some respect!” are Neloth’s final parting words shouted after the apprentice, stumbling away on the dunes. He adjusts his scarf, smooths down his robes. Automatic, short little movements, to regain some of his usual composure. Huffs once, as he returns to his research.

Foolish boy, not even a hundred, not even fifty, born here on the island, never been to Morrowind, Neloth fumes above some unfortunate spriggan, which still has enough stamina to burp up a lighting bug or two with a dagger inches deep in its trunk. Never seen the real greatness of House Telvanni, and never heard of the dangers being a member of it brought along. The assassination attempts. The espionage. He holds both his secrets and his life very dear to himself, so is not enthusiastic about being a victim of either crimes, thank you very much. 

Of course, he almost got fooled once, when he was much younger and much, much dumber, by dark, silk hair, and sultry words, a similar ashen body next to his in bed. After that experience, he put a swift end to any close relationships. Sexual activity is nice, but not getting a dagger between his shoulder blades is even nicer. And what he’s seen of Teldryn Sero is eerily similar of that one old case. The small touches, that glimmer in red eyes, even the cocky grin of the mercenary all bring back memories that are still too painful. He might be attracted, but he knows too damn well he should not. 

The fact that he is well past his first hundred also adds to his suspicions. He is old, and gotten very far from the state that one ill-fated lover described as ash poured over a flame. Currently, he more closely resembles the cracked, wind-carved lava rocks of Soltsheim, that Neloth knows surely. It is hard to see what someone like Sero could see in him other than an assassination target.

 

“I’m fucked” Teldryn sighs after the theatrical huff and puff

“Elaborate?” his patron just raises one nicely shaped eyebrow to indicate it was more of a friendly question than an order

The Dunmer sighs, plops down into the ash “I’m so gay” 

“Same” that’s a snort back from Mir, and a lopsided smirk “Come here” she hooks an arm around her friend, Teldryn goes with it, his head falls onto her chitin-armoured shoulder like a ragdoll’s, even though he is taller with a good head and a half “Is it still Neloth?”

Teldryn nods “I thought I had a chance. Just a small one, though”

“I know, I am sorry” this is an old dance between the two of them, they both been on both ends, before Mir found Aela. Support and advice, and just knowing that they are not alone, banter and sometimes tears (which Telrdyn vehemently denies, there is no evidence with a full-face helmet), in the almost one whole year Mir has paid for Teldryn’s services. 

“Can we please go to the mainlands for while? I need some distance from that old fuck” 

“Sure. And before that we get some sujamma”

“And we get some sujamma”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the "i'm so gay" is a very distinct and solid emotion experienced by all queers at some point in their lives, best displayed by squishing your cheeks between two palms, and making dreamy moon eyes, thinking about the peep you crush on currently
> 
> also, holy shit, i emerged from the swamps i've been hiding in lately and posted a chapter. sorry for the wait guys.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Solitude, with some barter, saccharine sweetness, and smut

They spare the long trip by foot between Windhelm and Solitude thanks to Mir’s yet another connection – profiting off of Captain Salt-Sage’s guilt about taking some shady masked cultists on board, who later turned out to be assassins sent after the Dragonborn. Gjalund takes them directly to Solitude, navigating the shattered coastline around Winterhold, and keeping an eye out for dangerous sand pads later around the salty marshes of Morthal. The port pass is also sorted out by Mir, having cleared out a pirate den for the East Empire Company – an eye for an eye, a favour for a favour. 

“Good, I would not give half a septim to these bastards” that is Teldryn approving of the business practices

“You know very well you cannot spend money in the region without it ending up in their pockets” Mir is already thinking about money, they piled up quite a bit of junk and treasure, fifty-fifty percent roughly of each, during their adventures in Solstheim, and they need to get rid of it one way or another. The leathers and the malachite might make a gauntlet or a helmet. The rest of the leather can patch up her guild hood. They also have some scales and bone, met a dragon in Raven Rock, might ask Teldryn whether he wants something nice out of it, can buy the ebony for it at the blacksmith, sell the surplus weapons in exchange. Rest of the weapons to the fletcher, the clothes and armour to Radiant Raiment and to Sayma, she always gives a good price. She collected some trama root and such, rare ash plants, Angeline will be happy to put her hands on those for sure, barter a few healing potions, never can have enough of those. What else is left? The yams to the market, and she has to get some sweets for the kids…

“You know you talk to yourself?” the elf squints in his usual way, too lazy to smile properly, just crinkling blood red eyes. He has his helmet off for a bit, enjoys the salty sea wind ruffling his mohawk “Didn’t wanna interrupt, ‘s all”

 

Chitin boots are meant to be more comfortable than simple leather, the resin helping your joints on uneven terrain and so, but no elven ergonomy can keep up with the distance Mir is able to zig-zag between shops and stalls when she has to get rid of her piled up haul. 

All in all, Teldryn is happy when they finally head up the slope leading to the Blue Palace, he can swear some blisters are forming on the soles of his feet, the exact feet he walked across the whole of Soltsheim on without a problem. Cobblestones and human architecture, damn all to Oblivion. Mir still has energy to step out, a tiny little bounce in her steps, probably from the lightening of the load in her knapsack. But the hum and excited chatter Teldryn has learnt to tune out is definitely due to the fact that she’ll be seeing Aela and the brats for the first time in more than a month.

“What did you get for them?” he knows Mir feels guilty for being away from her children, and tries to make up for it (even though none of them really mind, a half-there parent is still better than none) with various knickknacks and an abundance of sweets no parent in their right mind would normally allow in fear of a sugar rush lasting well until dawn. 

“Runa gets a dagger”

“A dagger?” Teldryn laughs “Isn’t she like… eight or something?”

“Eight and three quarters” she corrects automatically, Runa is in the age where every month seems important and insists on precision “and she is dangerously good with a wooden sword. Or she can just use it to cut knots and herbs or whatever kids these days do with knives”

“I don’t think kids should do anything at all with knives….” but Mir has no time to retort, they reach the door, and in quick succession, she is jumped by a large armoured husky, a small blonde girl, her hair in a bob similar to Mir’s, and a boy, a year or two older, skin just two shades lighter than his mother’s. They end up in a puppy pile on the floor, as the Redguard dramatically collapses under their weight, the children squealing, Sceolang joining in with that typical husky-wail, and Mir yelling long-winded curses about being defeated by her mortal foes, woe to her, woe to her. 

“I brought you an idiot” Teldryn greets Aela, who just arrives downstairs, eyeing the chaos half way between cuddling and wrestling unravelling before her feet with a subtle half-grin. She starts out, gracefully climbing through limbs and kids before reaching her wife in the middle of the pile

“Hello dearest” her voice is like honey, warm and sweet, and honestly, Teldryn feels just as sticky from it. Luckily, they stop at a chaste peck on the lips, and a half-assed hug, with Mir reaching up from the floor, and Aela awkwardly bent in half leaning down, he could not stomach anything more with his current heartache. He came here to get some distance, and forget all impressions and hopes of the just-budding romance he dreamt of. He really likes these two, but right now, he needs to be bitter and alone, probably in a hole, because by the Divines he is jealous of the happiness; it is not fair that they got together, yet he did not have the same luck with Neloth. 

He snaps out of his thoughts when Aela reaches him from across the pile, and wraps him in a close hug, smelling of worn leather and heather and wet dog, if rumours are true, she and Mir met in some kind of a werewolf gang “Thanks for bringing this idiot home in one piece, Tel.” And hey, after all, being miserable passes quicker with friends, so Teldryn forgets about the planned self-pity hole he wanted to dig, and takes the upstairs guest room as usual. 

 

The window palettes are thrown wide open, the crickets going at it like crazy, the cool air just starting to creep into the hot room, well past midnight. The fact that there are two bodies actively raising the temperature does not help either.

“Sssh! Do you want a guard to come up?” Aela laughs up at her wife, taps a finger on her hip. She is all dishevelled, red hair mussed by brown hands, war paint smudged around her mouth, and to be honest, that is all that can be dishevelled on her currently, as she’s laying stark naked between her wife’s wide open legs. 

“I’ll stop yelling…” deep gasp “… if you stop making me yell” Mir has trouble breathing evenly by now, skin coated by a layer of sweat, her belly rising and falling without a steady rhythm “and by the gods I’ll start yelling again if you do not continue”

Aela compiles, leans back over the black curls, brushing a hand over them gently. Shuffles a bit further down the bed, throws an arm across Mir’s lower stomach.

“Will you get to…” and the complaining is turned into a deep, sharp inhale, as Mir feels soft lips kissing at her, past the inner hip, but not yet where she wants to. She tries to gently push Aela’s head a bit to the left, just half an inch, just a tiny bit, she tries to wiggle her hips under her mouth, but her wife knows what she’s trying to do. The arm across her hips is there for a reason, Aela steadies her with ease, muscles built by years with the bow dance on Mir’s skin. 

All is still for a moment, just the crickets, and frantic panting from Mir is heard, muscles trembling, as she waits for her, as she yields to her and Aela loves it. Then she finally dives in, sooner than usual, but the teasing is hard on both of them after such a long time spent apart. It is more practice and habit that guides her nowadays, almost a pavlovian reflex – lick here, and you will get sharp little nails scratching along your scalp, suck there, and strong thighs will tremble under your palm, flatten your tongue and slowly drag it up, the reward is a deep lovely moan. Keep the whole thing up for a while, and your wife will come, strong body arched so sharply you think her spine might snap, her hands holding you, pressing you against her sex, high repeating cries muffled by her fist or a pillow, her scent strong in your nose, her taste tangy, sharp in your mouth, and she quivers and clenches and when she finally goes limp with pleasure, a trembling hand playing with your hair. 

And it ends just so, with Aela resting her head on Mir’s belly, running a hand dreamily on her side, fingers feeling too light combing through her hair. She listens to her heartbeat slowing, just like after battles they fought together, just like after the hunts they spent together. And she feels a deep, warm sense of wholeness wash over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no proofreading we die like mne, so please let me know if I made any typos or such
> 
> also, this is more like a filler/background chapter, i promise we will get back to the dunmers


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he cannot have Neloth, at least let him have his friend, damnit, this mercenary is very very lonely, and just realized cold blooded gay killers can still have it all and enjoy fluffy love.

Mir opens the book. He told her not to, he told her it was a daedric artefact, and not one of the nice ones, if those ever existed. But Mir will stop being stubborn when the moons rise on the west, so here they are, in the middle of nowhere, with no guards, no bystanders, no possible passerbys, in a rackety crabber’s shanty. Teldryn tried to talk his patron down just one last time, jokes about septims he won’t get, a body he would have to bury alone, offers to do it in Tel Mytrhin, to no avail. So Mir opens the book, and Teldryn almost throws up. 

\--

Slimy, ink black tentacles are the last things Mir sees of Skyrim, and then it is blackout. When she awakes – no, not awakes, she was fully conscious - more like when her eyes and body are switched back on, she is most definitely not in Skyrim. It smells acidic, like the marshes of Eastmarch, but the similarities stop here, the landscape is an unnerving mish-mash of ink or mud, she cannot decide and is absolutely not willing to investigate, curling tentacles, and walls stacked from rotting books and pages. Ebony bow in one hand, Mir crouches and sets out to find a way out, because there has got to be one. 

\--

Teldryn did actually throw up in the end, when one of the slime-tentacles grabbing Mir decided to enter her through an eye socket. He takes a swig from one of their waterskins, spits out the water on the ground, trying to clear the sour taste and sticky drool from his mouth. But still, readjusting the chitin plates around his neck and head (at least it protects from the squicky noises the tentacles make), he sits back down. Deep breaths. Count to five, inhale, count to five, exhale. Deep breaths. Teldryn focuses on the feel of the cold air in his nostrils, down his throat, the rise and fall of his stomach. He cannot keep Mir safe if he panics. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

Trembling fingers and an urge to chew his lips to shred pass the criteria of “not being panicked”, so Teldryn slowly opens his eyes. On a second look, being prepared for what he will see he is not exactly fine, but is able to watch. Some parts of the scene. Alright, he thinks, small steps. The book is levitating. Out of the book, ten to twenty black tentacles curl. They seem to be alive, that is his next assessment. Alive, or living dead, since they wiggle like crazy. Deep breath, the counting kind again. They are holding Mir in the air. She does not seem to struggle, she does not seem conscious, at least she did not react to Teldryn’s screams when she got grabbed and lifted. No bleeding either, that is a good sign, he can feel a hard knot in his stomach loosening a bit. All he can do is to keep watch and wait.

\--

The sunpatch on the wooden floor shifted a good foot when Mir first gives a sound. Teldryn knows that groan, they fought enough battles to know she makes it when she takes a hit. On a reflex, he scrambles for a knapsack, looks for the familiar red bottle of a healing potion – and finds none. Long fingers rake along the ridges of his helmet, then he dives again. A small stamina potion. Not ideal, but better than nothing.

“Come on boss” he scoots up next to Mir, he can comfortably reach her lips as she hangs limply “drink up” he feeds the potion drop by drop to her, one hand propping up her head, the last thing she needs is choking. Mir drinks the potion slowly, licks the drops off her lips, Teldryn mumbles back something in Dunmer every time she groans again. She drinks slowly, but the bottle still empties way too soon. The elf rummages through the knapsack again, but finds nothing. The next time Mir whimpers, the only thing he can do is to reach out for a small, brown hand. It takes a few seconds, but finally, slowly, the fingers curl around his. 

\--

They manage to kick each other in the shin when they jerk awake – Mir finally finding a way out of the eerie labyrinth of Herma-Mora, Teldryn waking up from his catnap to the loss of Mir’s hand in his. There is mutual yelling, and a bear hug after he hastily checks the other is unharmed. And then they just cling to each other.

Mir savours each breath, every sound of her surroundings, she has never been so aware before, and Tel holds her tight, chitin pressing into soft bits uncomfortably, but it grounds her, by the gods, she is alive.

She is alive, that all that goes on in Teldryn’s mind, on repeat. She breathes, and he can swear she is chuckling a bit, the shocked, incredulous kind. She also has both her eyes, an important detail. She’s alive, she’s alive, she’saliveshe’salive… And then the worry bubbles out of him in a choked sob, fingers curling into the dirt to cull the pain in his chest somehow

\--

Mir rests her head on a sharp elven shoulder, one hand rubbing soothing circles into her companions back, the other is currently held in a death grip by him. She hears the sharp breaths, the air moving in and out of his lungs, as he keeps talking through the sobbing. She cannot ease the pain, so she keeps him company through the suffering, just like he did for her. 

“Do not die” Teldryn has his helmet off, so she can hear him clear, even though he is facing away, voice sniffly and wet with tears “Do not die” Mir could only apologize, every time Tel said it and will say it, but knows it would not be enough “You have Aela …. the kids…. your friends”

The Dunmer is shaking with a new wave of sobs, tries a couple times to get his words out of his mouth. He manages with a fast “Do not leave me alone” and after this, he’s crying even louder, unable to stop his body from curling around itself. It hurts. Mir holds him, and lets him cry himself out to a slow, steady mantra of nevers from her. 

\--

It is evening, and Teldryn feels light, empty. He nurses a cup of herbal tea, supposed to be calming, canis root and something something, but he still has small hiccups coming and going from crying for so long, so how in the gods is he supposed to drink it.  
“Do you want to talk some more?” his patron already bundled him up and mothered him around too much to be good for his ruthless mercenary image, but he stopped caring about twenty years ago

“I meant it” 

“That you have no family?”

“…and no friends” he says quietly, more to his cup of tea, than to Mir “besides you”

“I guess that is nomad life for you” a bitter smile, a reassuring hand on his shoulder

“No. I see what you have” he is looking for words, a way to finally grab the thoughts in his head floating around for some time. Not jealousy, no, but rather a feeling of suddenly realizing something he can have is missing “I… I never thought you can do this with others in the picture”

“It is a lot of work” Mir’s guilt is clear on her face, she never gets over the fact that she is not a stay home mother

“I know, I see you. But I never knew, I never realized you can have this. Someone, I mean” he feels vulnerable without his helmet, and damn, this conversation does not help either, but he learnt he can be soft around Mir “And then I realized in Solitude that what you have is what I want”

“I’m guessing you did not mean the two brats, Northern wife and wailing husky combo?” Mir jokes, and there it is, a small smile on the purple lips of the elf

“No, but… going home and someone waiting for you, damn, even a home. A bed, just for you two” his eyes start to water up again, he chuckles as he wipes them with the back of his sleeve “Look at me, old age making me sappy”

“Don’t be disgusting” Mir interrupts, chucks a handkerchief at him, gods know when she started carrying around fancy shit like this

\--

“Mir?” he asks, waking her up from her half-slumber. She hums back something that sounds close to a “what?”

“How do you feel when you miss Aela?” Teldryn guesses now is the good time to get her to talk about feelings, bedrolls rustle as she throws herself to her back, black hair so dark, it is even discernible in the dark

“I just… miss her. Like… she should be here, and then she’s not. Like I see all these things, and I’m like, yeah, she would love this, and I do something, and all I want is to see her face when I’m telling her about it. And I look at her every time, I just go ‘this is the woman I want to be old sods with’” Teldryn nods back, as a silent go on “I felt…I felt weird at first, getting so much from her, I was like, how can I allow myself to be so reliant on someone else, what if they leave me?” 

“I know the feeling”

“You just get used to being self-sufficient out on the road, but Tel, she’s like a safety bubble” she muses on in a soft, sleep voice. Silence answers her “Tel? Can I sleep now?” 

“Sure, boss, thank you” he shuffles deeper into his bedroll and starts to reassess his attraction to Neloth. He sinks into sleep with the dumbest grin on his face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *imagine that 'do you think pigeons have feelings?' video but with Teldryn and Mir*
> 
> THIS BITCH UPDATED, YEET! Woo boy, this chapter took a bit, and I made it extra angsty for your viewing pleasures. I just started my final year at uni, so expect a similar update pace in the future (maybe bookmark so you can be notified, or idk). 
> 
> Also, comments are life, comments keep me up all night writing a new chapter x


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These Dunmers need an intervention (Dunmers, more like Dumb-mers, amiright)

Teldryn thought his patron has been quiet lately because she was planning one of her master heists on some unfortunate Solitude bootlicker. But they already sold the goods to the Guild, and Mir still isn’t her usual self – it is early in the morning, but her usual chit-chat, meant more for herself, than for Teldryn is missing. 

He does a quick rundown of recent happenings. Civil war – over. Mage’s college – still in one piece. Guild – they just checked in yesterday. Jarls – can get fucked for all they care. Aela – it is never Aela. So then … oh shit “Boss. Are you ill?” 

“…What?” Mir jumps at the question “No, I’m… no, I’m all right”

“You don’t normally, like, you know, gaze off into the distance with empty big eyes” the mer illustrates, holding up encircled thumbs and forefingers in front of his face

“Oh shut the fuck up”

“…and pour scalding tea on yourself. I’m with you because you’re not slow like most humans”

“I’ve been thinking”

“Really?” Teldryn gasps mock-surprised “What a feat, I shall send a currier crow to the jarls”

“Cut the sass, Tel” but all is fine, all is good, Tel knows that when there is banter and bickering, he has a happy patron. “I’ve been thinking about you. No! Hush! You and Neloth” Mir is glad Teldryn took to having helmet free mornings, she would pay serious money to see again how the fake scandalised O of his mouth splits into the cheekiest grin she has ever seen on a mer.

“I almost said you saucy minx, but this is serious” he sometimes reminds Mir of the domesticated sand lynxes they had at home, he crouches the same way, just shy of being all up in your personal space, triangular face, big almond eyes, though in red, not sand-gold. Gods, he even has the pointy ears. And gods, the way he just scooted closer on his butt. “If you got news. Tell me the news.”

“No news… but a plan. To get my ally back, and to get a happy mercenary.”

 

“I presume you survived another Black Book” the posh, nasal voice of Neloth is as sharp as his damn cheekbones, gives Mir the feeling of being poked in the ribs by nosy old relatives. Fortunately, she is well versed in verbal warfare.

“Good day to you too, Master Neloth, nice to see you again. How is your health serving?” 

“When you live three hundred more years you will realise all these small talk, if that is what you call it these days, is utterly useless. Get to the point.” 

“I got your Black Book back. And, as a thank you gift, this.” It takes a good minute to wrestle the cloth covered bundle off her knapsack, but she manages to hand over the ancient staff to Neloth without any damage to her surroundings. 

“Is this… This is a… A staff of the First, if I am correct, and I am always correct, or I tend to be, especially with staffs, you know, they are my specialty after all, and this, as you can see, is a staff, indeed, a very fine staff” the only thing faster than the words spilling from the mer’s mouth are his fingers, loosening twine and fabric to get to the staff

“Teldryn found a promising lead on the location” Mir strategically interjects the excited babbling, because let’s be honest, that is what Neloth’s doing. 

“Teldryn Sero? The spellsword?” she keeps her fingers crossed that it really was a happily surprised tone she felt there “I might have made a hurried judgement calling him terrible the last time we talked”

 

Teldryn peeps out from behind the sand dune, perks up suddenly when he spots Mir returning from the towers of Tel Mythrin

“What did he say? What did he do? Did you mention me? Did he look happy? Did he remember me? Mir! Mir!” 

“I thiiiink you are good.”

“Am I?” and he sighs so hard Mir swears it stirs the fine falling ash, even through the helmet “Good.”

“And he loved the staff”

“Did he?” and Mir’s heart melts just a bit under all the chitin, Tel sounds oh so happy. He would have probably been overjoyed if he were there in the tower, full helmet shielding his ear-to-ear smile, but Neloth currently has a ban on all mercenaries entering his towers, due to a particularly stupid and inappropriate comment by a particularly stupid and inappropriate Teldryn. “Oh by the gods, I hope you further prove to be the tactical genius you are”

 

So it continues just like that. Teldryn keeping a polite and respectful distance while Neloth’s ban is live, Mir telling tales of his battle prowess, mastery of fire spells, and recent interest in enchanting, which is not even half a lie, the younger mer traded some textbooks on the basics, and is actually reading them, and Neloth slowly easing up to the idea that Teldryn might not be a force of utter chaos in his towers. 

 

It is the start of the summer, when Mir’s buttering up of him is finally successful, and Neloth nonchalantly yells down from the elevator platform of his tower

“He can come up too if he wants to” he is not addressing the mercenary, to prevent him getting ideas about how close they stand, but Mir. He wants to see how much Sero has changed, and deep down he knows the unease in his stomach lately was because he has not heard about the other since a week, not because of his new steward’s tea making abilities, but damned will he be if he ever lets that show. 

The first figure to float up is the short, stocky chitin covered figure of Mir, the short woman lands with slightly bent knees, with the ease of practice. Then there is nothing. Neloth suddenly feels just like when a shard of heartstone struck him across his face during his early research on those, a pang of disbelief, a flood of warmth in his cheeks. Maybe he was too harsh with Sero, too set in his hermit ways. 

A light thud jolts him back to the present, and he looks up just in time to see Teldryn straighten up after landing. He came, after all, and the squeamish feeling in his stomach gets replaced by an equally confusing and alien one in his chest. He suspects it might be something with his heart, after all he is getting to that age. He goes through the symptoms automatically, tight feeling in his chest – present, fast heartbeat – present, sweating on the forehead and palms – present, even his vision is swimming. He will have a minute to live, most, he registers surprisingly calm.  
He counts the seconds, as the foggy shapes of the two approach. If that is how he goes, then that is how he goes. He gets to fifty-two, and they stop before him. He gets to fifty-six, Mir greets him, but all he can muster is a court nod. He gets to sixty, and Sero steps forward. He gets to sixty-four, and the other mer removes his helmet, speaks old Dunmer words of greeting to him, familiar enough to get through the brain fog. He gets to seventy, and he is still alive, his heart is still beating, fast and irregular, staring into Teldryn Sero’s red eyes, and by fucking Mephala, it is not his heart giving out. He has a crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop whoop, one month later we have an update, everyone. i wrote this to procrastinate an essay about fish culture, so be proud.  
> also, there's two more chapters to go, so hang in there!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wingmaning intensifies

Neloth needs some gods damned time for himself. Without Mir barging on him, that woman does not back down, stubborn as a silt strider. Without Talvas being the worst assistant ever, even though every time he hopes his current assistant cannot get worse than the previous ones. And without a certain spellsword and his damn face making everything so very confusing.

He is a master wizard, hundreds of years old, the best in his craft, yet when Sero is around, he, it is embarrassing to admit to himself, messes things up – a slip of tongue during a spell, carving knife running too deep into the wood of a half-made staff, forgetting what he was explaining to Mir about Apocrypha mid-sentence, once he even stepped on the edge of his robe, almost falling face first. It is certainly not age, though there is nothing he fears more than the mental decline with age so common in mer. The clumsiness comes suddenly, and strongly correlates to the presence of Sero. 

Neloth frowns as he reasons further, sips a bitter sip of his canis root tea. Clumsiness means danger, he dabbles into things from another realm of Oblivion, worst case scenario he can cause a tear between realms. The cause of inattention is clear, the presence of the other Dunmer. Solution – ban him from the towers again. 

He should feel the calmness settling down on him he usually gets just when a solution finally clicks, but it is missing. On the contrary, he feels himself involuntarily furrowing his brows, twiggy fingers twirl the end of his scarf, a nervous habit picked up as a child. Neloth learned to trust his gut feelings around his first hundred, with a handful of explosions, malfunctioned spells and an assassination attempt behind his back. And banning Sero does not feel like a good solution. 

He actually sits down to think, a rare occurrence for him nowadays, always tinkering, brewing, enchanting, or just striding up and down, scolding Talvas or anyone unfortunate enough to be present. There must be a good reason for keeping the spellsword around then, one that he ignored in his reasoning. He sips his tea again, the warmth spreading in his chest similar to the one he started getting recently when seeing Sero. That’s it, he would miss that surely. Just like the look of perfect concentration on the mer’s face when he explains some basic enchanting to him, trying to be as far from condescending as he can muster. And the smile crinkling Sero’s eyes and nose up whenever he tells Talvas off for yet another stupid question. And how his laughter echoes off the mushroom ceilings when they crack one of their stupid in-jokes with the Dragonborn. He would even miss the confused blushing he has to hide every time Sero has his helmet off, and tries to meet his eyes from across the tower. It seems like the emotional pay-off is higher than the practical harms, Neloth concludes with a surprise. He cannot cut him off all of a sudden, he is way too deep in. 

But thinking about pursuing things any further elicits the same guttural sense of anxiety in him as banning Sero did. Neloth sighs, as the air leaves his lungs, he seems to sink deeper into the nest of his robes, weary and tired under his years. He knows that feeling too well, his brain violently protesting any attempt of emotional attachment. He rubs the old dagger scar between his ribs, it always starts aching in times like this, adding an extra warning, a reminder that self-preservation comes before matters of the heart. Reluctantly, he decides on the imperfect middle way, to leave things as they are. 

 

It is increasingly hard on Teldryn. He’s never been a patient man with things like this, more like a ‘fuck and run’ kind of guy, put crudely. But this, he reminds himself again, will be worth every single night he spends tossing and turning. And it should only be a matter of time before he finally manages to coax Neloth out of his hermit cocoon he built around himself. Oh, he knows how it is, Dunmer and their ambitions and intrigues, one has to come up with a defence strategy, even if it bites you on the ass in the long run. For him, it is the persona of the sassy, complaining merc, always aloof, always balancing that edge between unrespectful and cheeky, hiding behind his helmet, but in the end, just as isolated and lonely as Neloth. As Mir said, you need to take a leap of faith that the other will give, instead of take. And hey, it worked for her and Aela. 

He knows the signs, and they were there since the day Neloth allowed him back in his towers. He has the image of Neloth with his eyes wide with awe and the sudden recognition of how fast he is falling for Teldryn crystal clear in his mind, they stared at each other for what felt like ages, right until Talvas walked into a full shelf of soul crystals, startling them all. Gods, even after that, he liked Neloth just the same when he yelled bloody murder, and straightened the shelves with a simple flick of his wrist, magic crackling in the air like static on a hilltop before the lightning hits. Well, thinking back of it, lightning did hit, right into the spot the assistant was standing moments ago. Teldryn chuckles to himself, Mir does not comment, remembers all the “dumb shit” she did, as she puts it, when things were not yet steady with Aela. 

He bites into his lips to supress the undignified giggle almost escaping his lips, switches to a grin wide enough he feels his cheeks squishing up, not like anyone can see under his helmet right now. He just remembered their last visit, Neloth displaying the clumsiest, most obvious flirting tactic he’s ever seen from any grown mer. Oh, just showing him some basic enchanting methods, oh he will get the hang of carving if he directly followed his hand movements, grab the knife, gloves off, first, and just let Neloth guide him. He could feel the heat of a blush radiating from the older mer’s cheek, as he leaned above him, sitting by the enchanting table. But Teldryn was patient, he did not look up, did not startle Neloth. Let him work things out in his own pace, long, sinewy fingers on his scarred ones, slight tremble in them, from what Neloth claimed was the strain of carving ancient wood. Teldryn is not a patient man, but for Neloth, he is willing to be. 

 

“The world is waiting for you, Dragonborn” Neloth interjects into a long explanation of Mir about why she hasn’t used the last Black Book yet

“What will the world do when I die? I ain’t everyone’s nanny, chasing away the monsters from under your beds. One day you have to grab that fire poker, and deal with it on your own.”

“Miraak must be defeated, and currently, you are the best candidate. You must not stall anymore.” The elf does not yield, by now he picked up some basic methods to deal with a stubborn Dragonborn

“But you said you needed help, with the ash spawn, and finding staffs, and heart stones, and…” and you need to make up your mind about Tel, Mir adds in her head, it’s been going on for months now, Teldryn losing his hope more and more with each day, and the last thing she needs is a melancholic, heartbroken friend

“While I am a member of House Telvanni” interrupts Neloth “and my research is of outmost importance, I am able to recognize which situations are more beneficial to me, and currently it is Miraak defeated”

“Teach me enchanting” Mir changes topics, trying to come up anything that would buy her and Teldryn some more time, an excuse

“Pardon me?” 

“Or illusion spells” she is at the point where she would even sign up for spriggan vivisection 101 and advanced complaining if Neloth offered to teach that and it meant staying in the Telvanni towers. 

“What is the matter with you, go off, and kill Miraak!” Neloth is getting annoyed, speaking in the slow, loud, clear voice he uses with unreasonable apprentices

“No! No, no, I have to stay here!” 

“Here!? My tower is not a roadside inn” Neloth spits the words with disdain, never been keen on allowing people on his property “if you have not recognized. You have no reason to stay here, you have to go and kill Miraak! Or do you want to be thrown out? Haven’t you been using my hospitality enough? What else could you want?” he is properly pissed, sporting the trademark Neloth frown, Talvas already scooting towards a sturdy looking crate he can hide behind. 

“No, no, not me, not-” Mir tries to deescalate things, has to think quick “You know what. Fuck it” all cards on the table, she decides

“If you mean Miraak, I want to object to your flippant attitude, and stress how –“ he gets cut off by the Redguard

“It is not me. Well, not mainly me. It is-“ and that’s when she spots Neloth’s assistant, crouching behind the crate he was eyeing before “oh, for Oblivion’s sake, Talvas, fuck off! Can’t you see we are talking about private matters here?” the young mer jumps higher than an ash hopper, leaves with a quick mumble of sorrys trailing behind him. Mir waits until she hears the door being closed at the bottom of the tower “It is Teldryn.”

“Sero? What of him?” just a hint more concerned than he was with Mir wanting to stay. Cautious and suspicious, not sure where the conversation is going. 

“I’ve been stalling because of him”

“I do not understand. He cannot aid you in Apocrypha.”

“I – We needed an excuse so he can be around you. That’s why I’ve been telling you all those amazing things, I mean, most of them were true, he did the dumbest things to impress you, so you will realize he is harmless, and you allow him back in the towers.” Neloth opens his mouth, but Mir raises a palm “Let me finish. Do you think he got into enchanting because it raises his hiring fees as a spellsword? Do you think he would care enough about his grandmother to learn how to make canis root tea from her? Do you think he walks around without his helmet, because he enjoys that mushroomy air in your towers? Do you think I really do not need him when I leave him here for a day or two?”

“You have set me up.” Mir feels something in his voice she cannot pin down yet

“Well, strictly speaking, we did but-“

“You have set me up!” An accusing finger is pointed at her “What do you want?!” Ah, now she knows, it was panic trembling in Neloth’s voice

“Tel loves you. That’s it, that’s all” it is the easiest and quickest explanation, with the highest chances of calming Neloth

“No, he can’t” it’s an all-time record for new emotions displayed by the mer, Mir would be glad if they were anything other than paranoid panic and bitter sadness “I’m not – not what he deserves, he, he is” a heavy swallow “he is young, and, and skilled, and so much better, he does not deserve this” Neloth gestures at himself “he does not need a bitter, wrinkly hermit”

“Master Neloth!” this is the first time Mir ever touched him, and to get a whooping start, gives him a firm shake. The mer shuts his mouth with an audible clack, and focuses back on her “I have been putting off an important quest so my friend, who is deeply in love with you, can spend more time with and around you. He is feeling really miserable, and hoped that with time you will come to terms with what you are feeling, or reject him, but you did neither. He is waiting outside, because you have been acting weirder than usual lately and he wanted to give you some space. I am going to go in your lab, lock the fucking door on myself, use the last Black Book, and by the fucking gods, by the time I come back out, you two better talk out your things, or I am shouting this whole place into the sea”

Neloth loses his balance when the Redguard lets go of his robes, and by the time he regains it, it is too late to protest her. The lock clicks shut, and she has the only key. He curses in Dunmer. Sighs. Walks two full circles in his tower. Then decides dealing with his emotions and Sero would be easier than blast his way into his own laboratory – after all he grew it, so it is absolutely magic-proof - and zap some more answers out of Mir. And floats down in the stream of blue light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaa, here it is!!!!! here it is!!!! i don't know how i managed to get this far with this story, but it's one more update from getting finished so hang on!! 
> 
> also, tfw you want the slow burn to burn faster, but it's your fic, so you have to write it finally burning......


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lovely little chapter where everyone gets what they deserve - Teldry gets a bf, Neloth gets a healthy relationship and Mir gets some gotdamn peace and quiet

It’s almost noon in the ashlands, and Teldryn is sunbathing, splayed out on some fungus stairs. The netch leather of his armour gathers the heat, the heavier chitin plates getting cozy warm as well. He is toasty, that’s the correct expression, sore muscles letting go of piled up tension, he even pushes up his helmet to his forehead.

He is in a catnap when the main tower door bursts open, and in a swirl of oranges and reds, Neloth hurries down the stairs. Teldryn sits halfway up, propped up on his elbows, so he can peek over the edge of the stairs he is laying on. Mir is not with him, that’s good, she didn’t get thrown out. Neloth looks mad though, that’s definitely not good. He decides on waiting a bit, whatever is happening. At least he can soak up some more sun. 

“Sero.” Neloth can’t see him, looks around with his whole body turning. Teldryn waves a hand out at him “We need to talk” and he hurries over with swishing robes. Teldryn shades his eyes from the sun with a palm as the other dunmer gets closer “Stand up, will you? I prefer to address people face to face, not at the hemline of my clothes.”

And that’s all the warning he gets, before the ash clouds up next to Neloth, and he has to roll away from a stone fist with the most undignified roll he has managed in the last hundred years. “Wha-“ He scurries up on the stairs with a fast crab crawl, the ash golem trying to find where its prey went. That couple of seconds is perfectly enough to send a fireball to its core, and find cover behind a thicker branch of fungus. “What’s your problem?!” Teldryn yells out in what he hopes is a stern voice, and definitely not a surprised chicken screech. 

Neloth looks up at him, his hands glowing with the deep purple of conjuring spells, face hard and grey like the rocks around them “I never liked your boots.” -Wait what? His fucking boots? What in- 

And Tel wakes up with a jolt. 

He sighs with relief. Plush, soft darkness surrounds him, like mole fur, soothing and warm, and to be honest, still smelling like mushrooms after all these days he spent in the Telvanni towers. It’s all right, just a dream. Also, his boots? He chuckles softly. 

Neloth is heavy on his left side, still breathing slow and even, the breathing of deep sleep. Teldryn can just make out the other mer’s silhouette, against the white pillow and the dark fur throws covering both of them, skin just the right shade of dark grey to stand out on both dark and light background. It shouldn’t already feel like home, like a well-worn glove, like the taste of his favourite food, but it does. It feels right. 

He shuffles a bit, pulling a strand of his overgrown mohawk out from under his shoulder, unsticking his naked thighs from each other, then nestles back into the furs, all while taking care not to move his left arm, not to disturb Neloth’s sleep. 

The rising sun finds a crack in the wall, drips in slowly, then across a bony shoulder, a pointy elbow, muscles hiding under ageing skin like roots under the ash. Seconds pass, then minutes, and Teldryn can’t look away, mesmerized, as the thin light stripe slowly creeps across his lover’s body. The inevitable happens, it finally reaches Neloth’s face, jumps on sharp cheekbones, finds a closed eye. His face crinkles, he gives out a small, annoyed noise – adorable, that’s the only word Teldryn can think of– then nuzzles his face into the crook of Teldryn’s neck, and his body goes heavy again with a happy sigh. 

\---

Mir wakes up in the best possible way she can imagine. Slow, natural drifting awake, her body feeling well rested, her mind slow, but fresh. She holed up in a tiny plank fort built right around a spring for the night, all sides covered and secured, impossible to spot - back then it was a detect dead spell she cast just to show off to Teldryn that led them to the spot, and its previous inhabitant. It was a good spot, and now it gave her a good night. Which means this will be a good morning. 

A good morning deserves to have things done properly, she decides. She gets out of her bedroll, stretches high, on tiptoes, fingers trembling as they point towards the sky. From there, she bends forward, arms laced around her head as she sways gently, folded in half. Rises halfway up, her back gives a satisfying pop, Aela always tells her it is bad for her joints and spine. Smiling, she steps into a plank, slowly, slowly, lets herself down on the fort floor, wet log smell in her nose. Her back cracks again, Aela can’t hear it all the way from Solitude, as she pushes her torso up, head back, abs stretching out. On the next exhale she is on her hands and feet, bum up, then with small steps, ends up touching her toes. With a content huff, she straightens up. Everything stretched, everything good. 

She moves with a seamless grace through her morning routine, washing up, raking fingers through her ear-length hair, then brewing a cup of herbal tea over a hovering mage fire, mixing some nuts and dried fruits together. Sitting cross-legged in her shirt on the sun-warmed rocks forming the roof of the fort, fussily, slowly eating her breakfast, sipping her tea. Everything done when and how it should be done, no hurry, no extra movements. The sea can just be heard, waves shushing on the sand rhythmically, felsaad terns crying out every now and then. Quiet and orderly, just how she likes it. 

She waits until her body is warmed up in the sunlight, the slight dampness the waterfall spreads gone from her hair, then starts dressing, humming tunelessly. She puts her dunmer traveling clothes on today, the light linens make her feel soothed, part of the ash dunes, the wraps on her calves, arms and waist holding her together. Tucking stray hairs under her hood she makes a mental checklist, even though she knows she did everything how it should be done. 

Normally, good mornings do not happen on the road when she and Tel part ways. She needs the background noise of him getting ready, how they coordinate every step without even thinking, the little shared morning routine of chores they formed. Similar to the familiarity she has built with Aela – comes in a different flavour, but nonetheless soothing and grounding. 

Now, Tel is not here, but the morning is good, Mir wonders. As the sun shines brighter and brighter, she figures out this new order of things clearer and clearer – good mornings do not happen when Tel is not in place, as in, next to her. Now, a good morning happened, yet Teldryn is missing. So, relying on logic, she can deduce that Teldryn is somewhere, where it’s right. Oh. He’s with Neloth. She lets out a small laugh before she hoists her knapsack on her shoulders. All is well, everything and everyone is where they should be.

\---

Neloth wakes up to brightness. Still half asleep, he tries to turn his head away from it, but it’s more than a tiny sunspot, there is sunlight everywhere. He stayed in bed long enough that the sun shines properly into his chambers. Not that he minds. He is warmed by the sun, the furs in his bed, and his lover, a fact his old and recently more and more achy body really appreciates. 

“Morning, love” Teldryn says, already wide awake, based on his voice. 

“Morning yourself” Neloth grunts back

“I dreamt about when we first kissed. Except you summoned an ash golem on me, because you didn’t like my shoes” Since he started sleeping over, it’s been a habit of his to share his dreams with Neloth in the morning. Sometimes regular dreams, sometimes wacky, half-drunk ones, sometimes nightmares, but the older elf listens to them all the same, still sleep-warm and cuddled up to him. “I always said you have no fashion sense”

“Never argued with you about that. You visited at least one larger settlement in the past hundred years, unlike me” they laugh together. 

Teldryn leaves him for a bit, stretching naked next to the bed. There is no hurry, no experiments to do, no mess to clean up after his assistant, so Neloth leans back and nurses his cup of canis root tea. 

“You showing off for me?” 

“You wish, old man” and Teldryn turns back to him, forgetting about getting dressed, cheeky cat-like smile crunching up his nose, the corners of his deep red eyes. He leans in to kiss Neloth’s forehead, and he doesn’t flinch anymore like he used to. Instead, he nuzzles into Teldryn’s palm without a second thought, fits there like they were split into two from the same lava rock, long, long ago. One more kiss on his straight brow, then one on the tip of his nose, and for the next, they laugh into each other’s mouth. Everything is warm, light, and he feels like he is floating - Neloth normally would suspect some illusion magic, but it is all Teldryn, there is no crackling of magicka in the air, there never would be. 

The cup of tea ends up on the bedside table, aided by a clumsy push as Teldryn crawls back onto the bed, crouching above the other mer. From one kiss on the lips, more follows, getting deeper and deeper, grey fingers grabbing grey flesh, Neloth finds the tangle of Teldryn’s mohawk at the nape of his neck, and the other melts on top of him, just shy of collapsing. He welcomes the weight, it is not trapping him, but adds to the warmth, the sense of safety.

The sea is close enough that they can hear the waves, going unnoticed usually, but now the rhythm of Teldryn’s hips against his, his heavy breathing perfectly matches that of the sea. He feels like he is surrounded by Teldryn, his sounds, taste, smell, his skin and hair, his whole being. 

Then it is Neloth’s turn to go limp with pleasure as Teldryn dips his head down and goes for his neck. He knows not to cause pain, that’s more to his tastes than Neloth’s, just licks and gently sucks, hot and wet, and oh so good. He nibbles on one pointy earlobe, and Neloth practically meeps under him, all muscles going tight for a second before he shoves his head back down towards his neck. Teldryn smooths both palms down his sides, soothing him, the older mer is still sleepy warm. 

Teldryn scoots further and further down with each kiss, each lick, each nip, until Neloth’s sleepy brain pieces together the general direction where things are going. He gets Teldryn’s attention with a gentle pet of his hair. “I’m too old for that, sero” his voice is raspy, but there is a hint of laughter, Tel teased him with the same sentence just the other night

“Took you long enough to decide that” Tel looks up, mischief and lust mixing in his eyes. Neloth is sprawled out on the bed, head propped up at the headboard, relaxed and beautiful. His skinny chest is heaving, lips swollen from kisses and brows knit together. All in all, he looks thoroughly dishevelled, and Teldryn can feel a toothy, proud grin spreading on his face. Then he slowly drags back the covers bunched up around Neloth’s waist “… but I don’t think you are”

“I-I … I think the statement might be up for debate if” Neloth gasps sharply at the feel of a hot breath on his dick “if argued expertly” So Teldryn puts that clever tongue of his to some good use. He builds up his pace slowly, teasing, but not enough for Neloth to become fidgety and snap at him, bad habits are hard to get rid of. A kiss, a long lick up the shaft, sloppy and slow. When he takes it in his mouth as far as he can go, he feels a hand fluttering to his hair, grab onto his mohawk once shakily, then falling to the mattress. That is a definite yes from Neloth, in his usual reserved way, so he keeps the pace up, the slow up and down drag of his mouth. No need to hurry. 

Neloth loses track of time, all that exists is the slowly curling pleasure of a coming orgasm in his lower stomach, and Teldryn’s mouth and hands on him. He can’t stop his body arching up, hands fisting the bedsheets, his left calf starts quivering. There is the hot grip of Teldryn’s lips, then an agile tongue, again and again, never slowing down and never speeding up, maddeningly same. And then he takes him deeper than he thought it is possible, and all he has time for is to tap a finger on Teldryn’s shoulder as a warning, before he is bucking up into his mouth and spills with a high, staccato little moan. 

The first thing he sees after getting his breath back and opening his eyes is Teldryn resting his head on his stomach, watching him while lazily licking up a stray streak of cum from his hand. And the bastard laughs up at him. “Well love, you came sloppy and fast like a young mer in their first hundred, so I am confident to say that your thesis is fully refuted”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got snowed in, so I finally finished this bebe!!!! 
> 
> I want to thank you all for being such wonderful readers, all the kudos, comments, I never would have finished this story without you! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Every kudo, every bookmark, every comment is cherished in my tiny gerblin heart, you guys have been amazing <3


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